


Memories

by Parttimesloth



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern AU, bellamy and clarke small moments, doctor clarke and special agent blake kicking ass, octavia and bellamy being emotinal, sorry for the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2576921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parttimesloth/pseuds/Parttimesloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five memories Bellamy couldn't forget, and one that he had to suffer through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viansian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viansian/gifts).



> Hey guys! So I've been trying to write something angsty for a long time, and this idea just popped into my head and I couldn't help but write it. 
> 
> A huge thanks to Drew, an amazing beta, whose work is ALWAYS spectacular and perfect so check it out.
> 
> Hope you all like it!

Five memories.

 

* * *

  

“We got married two months ago you know. You don’t really have to carry me inside bridal style.”

 

“Well, what kind of a husband would I be if the princess didn’t get her royal treatment?”

 

As usual, that earns him a smack on the shoulder. Clarke never likes it when Bellamy brings up her bachelorette party, which is exactly why he often does. Once he passes the threshold, he puts her down (with him being a regular at the gym and her a petite person, carrying her is a piece of cake) and her feet touch the wooden floors of their new home.

They started looking once they got engaged; Bellamy’s small apartment was not really a good fit for a family. Bellamy defended his bachelor pad like his life depended on it, but once Clarke brought up the not so metaphorical traces of the women in his life before her, the argument was over. So they decided on a two-story suburban house (Bellamy insisted their kids should have a safe neighborhood where they can ride bikes) with a large yard (Clarke refused to not have a swing set). It took somewhat a long time to arrange their stuff with their taking long shifts in the hospital, where Clarke is a surgical resident in Trauma, and the Bureau, where Bellamy works as a profiler in the Blue Collar division.

Yet, there they are now, standing in the hallway with Bellamy holding Clarke by the waist. She’s wearing a red tank top and blue jean shorts, which he loves as they show her curvy features perfectly. Bellamy, on the other hand, is wearing a blue shirt, cargo shorts, and black flip-flops. They’re both sweaty from moving in the middle of a hot July afternoon, but they’re too busy thinking about settling in and worrying about what their neighbors will be like to care about that.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you? God, Bellamy, it was one drunken night. You know I make rash and wrong decisions once I start drinking. Remember the whole sleeping with you after too many tequila shots incident?”

“Careful, princess. You should be more kind towards your life-long partner; if it weren’t for me, you would become a mean old lady with 10 cats named after the Nobel Prize winners with Posh names I cannot even pronounce.”

“I’ll have you know, I had many eligible suitors ready to shower me with gifts and flowers. You’re lucky I only had my eyes on – ”

Bellamy’s lips interrupt Clarke when he presses his mouth against hers. He cupps her face in his calloused, tanned hands and parts her lips with a small bite to the bottom as Clarke hangs on to the hem of his black shirt. It’s more of a chaste kiss, the kind Clarke gets when Bellamy fails to express his thoughts verbally, but wants her to know he loves her. Like after they wake up. Or in between fights, just to shut her up. Before leaving for work. Coming home after a stressful day filled with shootings, gruesome murders, and drug lords. Whenever she gets carried away while talking about her day at the hospital, how she saved that one patient everyone else believed was a goner, or how she impressed her chief of surgery after finding out the patient had Huntington’s disease.

Bellamy pulls away first and caresses her cheeks with his thumbs, his lips forming a smile in sight of the baffled blonde. He strokes her golden curls, all tangled and disheveled after hours of traffic.

 

“Yeah, I’m the luckiest man on Earth.”

 

* * *

 

Five random moments that did not seem so significant at the time.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t be mad. I did something.”

 

“Are you sorry you did it?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Well then, I make no such promise.”

 

Bellamy stands at the entrance of the living room with his hands thrown up in defeat, staring at a confused Clarke who just walked in with an exasperated sigh. She just returned from a fifteen-hour shift, so he knows taking the puppy - which Clarke stubbornly resisted, saying they were too busy to take under such responsibility – from the animal shelter _today_ was not the smartest choice. But before he can say anything, the two months old Golden Retriever runs towards the blond and starts licking her exposed legs. Clarke’s taken aback by the sudden attack, but an instant smile forms on her lips and she kneels down to pet him. She cups his little face in her soft hands, shakes her head up and down as she mutters “who’s a good boy?” “You are, yes you are” “oh I can just eat you up”. 

Bellamy tries to take advantage of her distracted state, so he slowly and quietly backs away. Just as he reaches the arc that leads to the kitchen and turnes away, he hears her voice behind. “I’m still mad, you know.”

Bellamy stops dead on his tracks, and turns around. Clarke’s standing again, her arms crossed against her chest. Though he’s a little relieved to see she’s still smiling. “You shouldn’t have done that, Bell. Especially after you agreed a dog is too much of a concern.”

He closes the distance in few short steps, takes Clarke’s hand and secures it in both of his. “I still back you up on that. But I _know_ we can handle him. I’m aware we have our share of arguments,” Clarke snorts at that, but doesn’t interrupt. “But I also see how well we work together. You’re the head, and I appreciate that. Someone in this marriage has to make the logical decisions. I, on the other hand, am the heart who makes decisions based on impulse and hopes for the best. Asking you out after the drunken sex and hoping I don’t screw up the girl whom I had real feelings for was one of these actions and I have not regretted it for once. I have a good feeling about this. So please, princess? He was miserable at that place and needs a home. You were kind enough to give me one, so are you willing to take a chance on this fella?”

Clarke’s deep sigh is the only confirmation Bellamy needs to understand he won. “Fine, but you’re in charge of his training and I swear to God, Bellamy, if he poops on the floor you’re sleeping on the couch until I decide otherwise.”

Bellamy’s face lightens up with a huge smile. He pulls her in for a deep kiss and she wraps her hands around his neck. He leans in further when suddenly she pulls away.

“What will his name be?”

Bellamy looks at the furry creature rolling around on the carpet and thinks for a moment before a mischievous grin forms on his face. “How about Rebel?”

Clarke laughs at that, fully aware of Bellamy’s college years leading a hacker group that exposed major companies and their corrupt divisions. The media had called him _The Rebel Leader_ for months until the police made a raid on their compound and trashed everything.

“So I have to deal with two rebellious boys now?”

“You have a problem with that, princess?

Still secure in his arms, Clarke kisses him on the cheek and rests her head in the crook of his neck, enjoying his musky scent. He smells of leather and aftershave, a combination she has come to known as home.

 

“Nah, we’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

Five instances when Bellamy felt more loved than he could ever imagine.

 

* * *

 

“You’re awfully quiet.”

 

Bellamy and Clarke are laying in their king sized bed, feet tangled in each other. Clarke rests her head on his broad shoulder, absentmindedly drawing imaginary circles on his bare chest with her index finger. Bellamy is on his back, one hand under his head. The other reaches around her waist from underneath, both pulling her closer and playing with her tangled, soft curls. His lips are on her hair, dropping soft kisses every now and then as he takes in her peach-scented shampoo. Clarke knows he’s exhausted from the long day he has had at the office, they’re still trying to catch that obsessive serial killer (Jack the Stretcher, as the media calls him because he hangs college students from rooftops of campus buildings) and coming up with no leads. So she doesn’t mind the silence, but Bellamy has been distant throughout dinner and she’s starting to worry.

“Hmm?”

“Is something troubling you?”

“It’s nothing. Just thinking. That’s all.”

She looks up at him. He’s staring outside the window, so she tilts his chin towards her. The moonlight is shining inside the bedroom, enabling her to see plainl his adorable chin-dimple, his timid charcoal eyes, his frowned brows, quivering lips, and his freckles scattered around his nose and cheekbones like the very constellations he doesn’t shut up about whenever they lie together outside on the lawn and stargaze. “Want to share these thoughts of yours that got you so nervous in the middle of the night?

He doesn’t respond, so she brings her back down and waits. She’s about to drift off to sleep when he sighs deeply and starts talking. “I was with Octavia today.”

She’s surprised at that, his sister may be reckless and may lack a filter when it comes to speeches, but why would Bellamy be upset over her usual self? “And?”

“We were chatting when Aaron started crying. Out of boredom, I suppose. She was going to take care of him, but she had a call, so she left me in the room with him. Alone. And I couldn’t handle him.”

Clarke turns on her side to rest on her stomach, clasps her hands together on his chest and rests her head on them. He’s staring at his fingers, still vaguely playing with her hair. He looks seriously troubled with his eyes filled with doubt, lips tugged in a thin line, forehead crowded with creases. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I couldn’t get him to be quiet. Octavia just left him in my arms and I didn’t know what to do. I tried feeding him, checking if he spoiled himself, patting him on the back to make sure he doesn’t have gas. I even made silly faces and noises that cannot be recognized by mankind and he kept crying until finally O came back and took him.”

Clarke knows where he’s going with this, after 4 years she knows his worries and insecurities like the back of her hand. Still, she prefers him to express his inner thoughts himself, so she doesn’t say anything. “He’s 7 months old, honey. He doesn’t need an excuse to cry. Besides, I have seen Lincoln shatter completely in front of that small human whose size doesn’t even reach your brother-in-law’s knees. Aaron can eradicate mountains with his shrieks if he intends to.”

Although Clarke believes every word she just said to her husband, his tense shoulders, worried eyes and frowning figure are clear signs he’s not convinced. When he speaks, his voice is unsteady, and his tone has a hint of jealousy. “You seem to handle him perfectly, though. Whenever he cries his lungs out, you simply hold him and he goes silent in an instant. God, your uterus is practically _screaming_ for a baby, Clarke.”

She knows they’re having a serious conversation, but Clarke can’t help but laugh at his comment. That gets him frustrated. He scoots to his side, letting go of a still laughing Clarke who turns on her side. He yanks off the thick sheets protecting both from the chill August night, runs his fingers through his ruffled hair (a nervous habit, he is aware) and puts his hands on his hips. “Really, princess? _Now_ is the time to laugh at my misery? Real mature.”

Clarke’s laughter slowly dims as she sits up on the bed and stares intently at her disgruntled, still glaring husband. She’s still smiling when she says, “You want to know why I’m laughing, Bell? It’s because you’re being ridiculous.”

 _Is this a joke?_ Bellamy yelps and throw his arms wide open. “Hello? Can’t a self-doubting man get love and comfort from his wife for once? I didn’t realize I had accidentally married Hitler. ”

Clarke scoffs, and stands up on her knees on the covers. She reaches out to him with her hand and motions him to hold it when he doesn’t move from his spot. “I’m not going to bite, pinky promise.”

Bellamy reluctantly holds Clarke’s hand and kneels on the bed in front of her as she locks her fingers with his. Then she reaches up with her free hand and strokes Bellamy’s cheek in the silkiest way. He’s not embarrassed to admit he craves her gentleness after all the shit life has thrown at his way.

Clarke’s staring right through his soul now, and he realizes she hasn’t been this serious since she told about her father’s death when they first started dating. It’s like she’s daring him to break away her gaze, and he’s not one to back down on a challenge. “You’re being ridiculous, because I’ve not known a man this suitable to be a dad. I know we’re trying, and things will be pretty messy from here on out. God knows how much concerns I have regarding pregnancy, but fearing you won’t be a good parent to our child _never_ crossed my mind. _Not once._ The idea of you being not father material is just _ludicrous._ I mean, look at Octavia! You have raised her since she was 10 years old and she’s one of the most compassionate, openhearted people I know. You may have a hard shell to crack, and occasionally you may frustrate me with your idiotic decisions, but our child will love you from the moment he or she sees you. Like I did. _”_

Bellamy’s shoulders finally slump down as he relaxes and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He replies with an arrogant smirk, “Well, to be honest, you were more irritated than in love with me at the beginning.” Clarke chuckles and bites his cheek softly. “You _are_ a difficult man after all.”

“You really believe all that?”

Not ending the gaze, Clarke rests her forehead on his and rubs their nose together. “With all my heart.”

Finally calmed down, Bellamy becomes aware of their close proximity. He loves her tiny form pressed against his strong figure, her peachy aroma radiating of her neck, which looks rather exposed at the moment. He closes the little distance they had by leaning further in and clashing their lips together.

Clarke responds immediately, grabbing his tangled dark brown curls and parting her lips for his tongue to wander as he embraces her in his arms, lowers her down so her head’s resting on her pillow. He groans into her mouth when she wraps her legs around his waist, running his hands down the side of her hip, sliding up under her shirt as his fingers go back up. He pulls away from the kiss and moves on to her neck, first planting soft kisses, then biting and sucking on the smooth skin. She feels intoxicating, and Bellamy knows touching her is never enough; sensing every inch of her body in synch with his own will always be as exhilarating as it was the first night they slept together. A devilish grin forms on her lips when she feels something pressing up against her tanned legs.

“You know, we don’t have to sleep right away.”

When he chuckles against her collarbone, she doesn’t need to see his eyes to know they’re filled with lust.

 

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

 

* * *

 

 Five steps that slowly, but inevitably, shaped him to be the man he is today.

 

* * *

 

“Veto. Jordan?”

 

“Veto. Luna?”

 

“Veto. Katie?”

 

“Unless you want our daughter to be named after one of my first night stands, veto. Ceres?

 

“Sweetie, I told you, no deities or Egyptian Goddesses. Octavia was very strict on not letting you name our firstborn after a historical character no one recognizes. Not even when the list is _extremely_ shortened after we eliminate all your exes.”

 

“Fine. Lets give our preciou baby an ordinary, mundane name she’ll have to -”

 

“Hey guys, what are you arguing over this time?”

 

Raven, who just entered the coffee shop, interrupts Bellamy’s complaining as she throws her jacket over the large couch he and Clarke is sitting on and takes a seat next to her best friend. Clarke’s swollen belly is somewhat apparent underneath the pale yellow blouse, and she starts smirking, knowing Raven will be on her side no matter what.

“Oh nothing, Rae. We’re trying to decide on baby names, and Bell here insists our kid has to spell out her name to every Starbucks dude for the rest of her life.”

“Seriously, Bellamy? Hasn’t Octavia had enough? Besides, I have the perfect name for you guys.” Bellamy scoffs. “Let me guess. Raven?”

“Exactly!” says Raven with a grin on her face. “It’s both unique, and you will always remember the dearest person in your lives.”

“You know I love you, but if that were the case, I’d be naming my baby girl Rebel.”

Clarke’s listening fondly to her best friend and husband squabble when the smile is wiped off her face as she bends over and holds her tummy, a soft moan coming out. The bickering duo is by her side insistently, Raven rubbing Clarke’s back and Bellamy kneeling in front of her pregnant wife, his hand over hers. They both have worried looks on their faces, mainly because Clarke’s head is still down and she is not making any noise. “Talk to me, princess, is something wrong?”

When Clarke finally lifts her head, her eyes are glowing and her smile is practically reaching her ears. She takes Bellamy’s hand and rests it on the side of her stomach.

“Clarke, what’s going on? You’re scaring me, would you just tell me is everyth –”

Bellamy goes silent as he feels the pressure of a violent kick under his hand. “Did he just?” Clarke grins and slowly nods. “She just kicked for the first time.”

“I WANT TO FEEL IT TO!” A loud shriek comes from Raven as she pushes Bellamy aside and puts her hand over where his was few seconds ago. They wait in silence for a moment before Raven’s face lights up with a huge smirk. “Oh she’s good. Good luck dealing with _her_ tantrums, Bellamy.”

Clarke smacks Raven’s arms, glaring at her best friend’s sarcastic comment. “Hey! I so do not throw tantrums.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

 Five milestones Bellamy took for granted because he foolishly believed he’d have infinitely more.

 

* * *

 

“Will you finish the princess story, daddy?”

 

Bellamy sits on the edge of her three years old daughter. It’s almost 10 o-clock, so it’s a miracle he successfully managed to secure Amelia under the covers without succumbing to her puppy-eyes and _please daddy_ s. They’re regularly overwhelmed with work, so naturally, on nights she’s lucky to have both her parents by her side, Amelia prefers hanging out with her parents on the couch in the living room, snuggling in between them as they watch goofy late night shows and eat popcorn, to being asleep. However, before she was born, Bellamy designed a schedule, making sure there’s always at least one parent to tug her to bed while the other is pulling a night shift. True, it’s often Clarke who’s stuck at the hospital with a prolonged surgery, but Bellamy doesn’t mind the father-daughter time. He kind of adores it, actually. His wife’s dedication to her patients is the sole reason why reading a bedtime story has become a thing for them. He has been filling his little girl’s mind with Disney princesses, fables, Greek mythologies and Viking legends for over eight months now. He’s thankful for not ignoring his geeky self and double majoing in both criminal psychology and world history; otherwise he would have ran out of fairytales long ago.

Bellamy chuckles lightly, scoots closer to her side and strokes her soft dark curls. She’s looking at her keenly, clearly calculating a reasonable excuse to get out of bed. He’s aware he has little time before she’s distracted by a sound Rebel made downstairs. So although he’s tired and would love to hold Clarke while waiting for Saturday Night Live (he doesn’t plan on sitting idly before the show starts) he smiles fondly before responding, “Of course, sweetie. Remember where we left off?”

The genuine smile, all 22 teeth showing, she gives him is all the comfort he needs to know he responded correctly. He has all her attention now, which is an honor really, considering a buzz of a fly is enough to amuse her miniature Sherlock Holmes. _Got to hand it Clarke, she did a wonderful job making sure the little princess is like her mother when it comes to matters she doesn’t understand._ Bellamy waits patiently for Amelia, playing with the covers of her princess Belle painted sheets as she tries to form sentences. “The evil Prince Hans left Princess Anna to freeze in a cold room, so that he will be crowned king.” Her eyes are full of worry now. “She’ll be okay though, won’t she daddy?”

Bellamy smiles reassuringly and pokes her nose. “Sure, honey. Just be patient. Now, do you have enough space for your old man in that crib?”

Amelia nods eagerly as she scoots, throws the covers open, and pats the empty side next to her. He lies beside her, leans on the head of her bead and flings his arm out to her side, prompting her to put her head on his shoulder. She keenly complies, holding her toy bear closely so it’s practically squished in between the two of them. “Okay, ready.”

Bellamy then tells her the rest of the movie he and Aaron saw about five days ago. He talks about how the mischievous prince wanted to steal the kingdom to be powerful, but he didn’t take into account the lengths Anna would go to save her sister. He talks about how Anna sacrificed herself to ensure Elsa’s safety, and how putting the needs of people you care about before your own personal desires is the meaning of true love, regardless of gender and age.

“Is what you and mommy have true love?” she asks, voice husky and sleepy as she tries and fails to suppress a yawn. Bellamy answers without a seconds thought. “Yes, I believe it is, bunny. But, you should know that what you, your mom and I have is also true love, because you are the most important being in ou lives, and there is no mountain too high to reach, no distance too far to walk when it comes to your happiness. Just like Anna and Elsa.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Bellamy pinches Amelia’s cheek, gets out of the bed, kneels on the edge, and tugs her daughter further under the blankets. Just as he’s about to stand up, she tugs at sleeve before asking, “Will I have a little sister to look out for as well?”

He grins, still amazed by how deep his daughter’s thinking gets independent of her small size. _Would be awesome if Clarke left some trait for me to pass on_. “Well, not a sister, sweetheart. _But,_ hopefully, in about a month, you will have a baby brother who will bother you until the end of time. Now _sleep.”_ He kisses her forehead and gets a peck on the cheek in return. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

“Sleep tight, daddy.”

He turns off the purple bedside lava lamp and turns towards the door, his eyes falling on her now eight months along wife, leaning on the doorway with her arms crossed against her chest, watching him fondly with a goofy smile on her face. He embraces her from behind, locking their hands together, and kisses her neck, which earns a sigh from Clarke. They watch their daughter for a while, both lost deep in their thoughts. Once Bellamy is sure Amelia’s sound asleep, he whispers, “How long have you been out here?”

She’s startled by his deep, croaky voice breaking the comfortable silence, but smiles lightly as she turns in his grip to look at him. “Long enough to be proud of myself for falling in love with the right man at the right time.”

Bellamy breaks out a huge grin, still amused at her ability to make him feel electrified all throughout his body even after eight years of knowing each other. “Well then, lets go downstairs so I can make you feel more proud, particularly of choosing a man with such big, capable hands.”

She snorts loudly before immediately closing her mouth with her hand to keep quiet and punching his bicep jokily with the other. He can still see her eyes are smiling – sparkling in the dark like diamonds in a cold coal mine if he’s honest – though. “We should have gotten separate rooms for you _and_ your enormous ego.” He leans in, tangles her blond, damp curls in his freakishly long fingers, takes in her feminine, floral scent, and whispers into her ear.

 

“You wouldn’t have me otherwise, princess.”

 

* * *

 

Five flashbacks stuck in a loop, playing repetitively in his head, as he now stands before the lectern, staring at dozens of people, all dressed in black, whom Clarke touched in some way.

As depressed as the situation is, he finds some glimpse amount of comfort in the huge number of guests who arrived. He clears his throat, tries to swallow the lump that has made camp there for few weeks now, and begins the most difficult speech he will ever give in his life.

 

“I’m not, um, really a funeral person. I never saw the meaning in honoring someone in death rather than in life, when it actually has an impact. But Octavia here, insisted that I be the one eulogizing her, since she was, uh, my wife and all.” He tries to smile, which comes out more as a grimace. Scratching the back of his neck, he fights back the tears welling in his eyes. _If only Clarke were here._ But then of course, the whole debacle would not need to be, which cerates a paradox Bellamy really doesn’t have the energy to get into.

“Okay… I won’t talk about how great of a person Clarke was; everyone here already knows her unique personality. I won’t talk about how she kept her dignity until the end, because death is nasty in all its forms and we all suffer through it in some dreadful way. Instead, I want to talk about the moment I knew I loved her. I mean, I had a crush on her throughout our friendship, but on our fourth date, we were arguing about the significance of physical and inner beauty. I, of course, being the shallow person I am, was leaning towards appearances. But she told me, with her head held up high and her chin dimple apparent whenever she got all deep and philosophical about life and the universe, that all people are beautiful in some fashion. Not in looks, not in what they say, but in what they are. I realized right there and then, in all the universes, under all circumstances, I’d choose her, because I had fallen in love with her. Truly, deeply and irreversibly. What she didn’t know was, which was not much actually, that on the rarest of occasions, when the sun shines on the right direction, when fate finally decides to smile, you catch the opportunity to meet someone who is beautiful in all three ways. Clarke Griffin was one of those erratic occasions. She was a bright comet, fleetingly lighting up our way and guiding us through the dark as she passed over our lives and moved on to another world. She was both a kind soul who put her friends and loved ones first, and a determinate spirit who had the guts to do the right thing in the toughest situations. But most importantly,” He is crying by that point, clinging to the wooden curves in fear of crumbling to the floor otherwise. He presses his forehead down to the podium, takes a deep breath, and continues. “Most importantly, she was the love of my life, the mother to my beautiful children, and my greatest shot at living a fairytale.” He chokes at the end of the sentence, unable to finish it, and the last bits end up as whispers, blending in with the forceful wind. Octavia stands up, secures her arm in Bellamy’s, mumbles a thank you to the guests, and leads them back to their seats.

 

* * *

 

IN LOVING MEMORY

CLARKE ELIZA GRIFFIN

1978-2014

CHERISHED FRIEND, BELOVED WIFE

DEEPLY MISSED MOTHER

_Taken from our lives, but never from our hearts_

 

He has been standing over her grave, alone, under the pouring rain, for 2 hours now. It’s only April, but the solemn weather seems fitting with the terrible afternoon; even Mother nature is weeping over the loss of such an angelic being. The funeral ended, and everyone but Bellamy got in their cars and drove to Octavia and Lincoln’s house where the service is being held. He’s grateful for her. Whereas Bellamy practically shut down after the ordeal (he’s not ready to come to terms with the correct wording yet), Octavia, in midst of her own grieving, dealt with all the preparations. She arranged the funeral, hosted the guests. She even offered for Amelia and Daniel to stay with her and her family for a few days. Bellamy noticed few days before that although they were too small to understand their mommy would not be around from now on, they still picked up on cues, which were mainly their father’s desperation and silence. Aaron would be of great help in distracting his cousins.

He knows it wasn’t Clarke’s fault. For God’s sake, it was a tumor.

 

So he blames himself for not dragging her to the hospital to get her randomly occurring headaches checked instead of listening to her complain about them for weeks and trusting her after she insisted they were probably because of the stress and the long shifts she had lately. He should have known better; the brilliant surgeon she was, Clarke never took care of herself when it came to medical issues.

 

He blames Raven for convincing him to support Clarke’s decision to stop the treatment after eleven months of ineffective medication and radiation.

 

He blames the doctors, who claimed they did everything they could, but in the end stood by and watched her slowly fade away, saying the only thing they could do for her was make her as comfortable as possible.

 

He blames Finn, for he’s the reason Bellamy couldn’t be with her for a long time, shortening the days he had her by his side. Where she should be now.

 

He blames Miller, who, after having to endure Bellamy’s constant nagging about her deep-ocean blue eyes, flowing fizzy blonde curls, her smooth curvy physique, her annoyingly stubborn and challenging nature, pushed him to ask Clarke out when she was finally single.

 

But most of all, he blames the universe, the almighty force everyone seems to seek comfort in the idea of. He’s sure it exists; he needed retribution for all he had done before Clarke _._ But he blames fate for choosing _her_ to punish him. It could have given him hell, and he would have endured it. _But Clarke was innocent_ , he thinks as his eyes darken and his jaw clenches with the memory of the breezy autumn evening they had met.

_He’s roaming the Emergency Room of the Arc General Hospital, looking desperately for someone who can find him Octavia. He got the call about half an hour ago, informing him about his little sister’s collapse at the mall. He now regrets hanging up on the nurse the moment she told him her sister was at the emergency room rather than asking about Octavia’s current condition. He searches the room, which coincidentally is in chaos so everyone’s either yelling or rushing around dragging gurneys, but upon failing to find a brunette with tanned skin and chocolate brown eyes, he hurries to the reception. His heart is pounding, his hands are trembling frantically, his footsteps echo loudly in his mind, and he knows he’s starting to loose it, but he doesn’t care. The only thing that matters right now is Octavia._

_He reaches the desk and dropping all the courtesy his mother thought her, he starts questioning the startled, confused nurse._

_“I’m looking for Octavia Blake. I was told over the phone she was brought to the E.R. but she’s not there.”_

_The nurse’s eyes enlarge with recognition at his mention of Octavia’s name. Finally an advantage of having his sister work at this damn hospital. “Ah yes, she has been checked in. However, only family is allowed. Dr. Griffin’s orders. Are you a family member, sir?”_

_“Yes, her brother. Bellamy Blake.”_

_“Do you have any credentials to support that claim?”_

_Bellamy reaches for his back pocket to take his ID out, but his hand pats an empty one instead._ Oh no. _He quickly checks the front pockets of his jeans, but no luck there either. Of course he forgot his fucking wallet on his desk, because the universe is determined on mocking him today. Probably laughing his ass off watching him squirm in anxiety._

_“It seems I left it back at the Bureau. Any way you can work around that?”_

_“I apologize, sir, Dr. Griffin said Octavia should not be disturbed unless by a family member and was very strict. I cannot let you in.”_

_Bellamy pounds his fist on the desk, causing the nurse to jump back and throw his arms up in defense. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” Bellamy points a finger at him accusingly, and is surprised by how loud and raucous his voice is now. “I don’t care who is the messenger and who is the royalty giving the orders, alright? TELL ME WHERE OCTAVIA’S ROOM IS. NOW.”_

_The man – boy, really, judging by how easily frightened he is – just stands there now, stunned at Bellamy’s outrage, unable to move or respond. But then Bellamy feels a firm grip on his arm. “Hey man, why don’t you just take it eas – ”_

_He grabs the man who stupidly made the mistake of touching a police officer, especially one with sharp reflexes, and pushes him to the nearest wall. He traps his neck between his forearm and the gray concrete, placing just enough pressure so he has slight trouble breathing. His eyes travel up and down, assessing his target. The man is young, in his mid-twenties, slightly shorter than Bellamy. He has brown, shaggy, straight hair that reaches down his neck. He’s wearing blue scrubs, which are oddly covered with stickers of planets and stars, and a white coat that has_ Collins _written on the nametag. He doesn’t look as scared as the nurse boy does, but his shoulders are tense and his eyes are filled with caution. He doesn’t break Bellamy’s glaring gaze though, he will give him that much credit._

 _“Listen, pretty boy, I’m an FBI agent, which means I have a badge that allows me to do whatever the hell I want. Now, tell me where my sister is before I_ make _you.”_

_Before the man can respond, Bellamy hears a ringing, silvery voice behind him. “The whole intimidating cop act may work out on the street, but in here, the only way you’re finding your sister and not getting your vulgar ass hauled out the exit by security is me. So please stop threatening my co-workers.”_

_Still holding Collins in his grip, Bellamy looks over his shoulder to find a blonde, slim figure standing by the desk with her arms on her hips. She has thick, wavy curls cascading down to her shoulders, the bluest of eyes whose color would easily compete with that of the deepest of oceans. Her face is slender and milk-white, and in it is a tireless curiosity that touches everything she sets her mind on achieving. Her curvy feature and her breasts apparent even under her baggy scrubs would easily distract him, if he were not so focused on her sister at the moment._

_“I’m sorry Clarke, I tried to –”_

_“It’s okay, Jasper. I’ll take care of him. You fetch Mr. Robinson’s lab results for me.”_

_The nurse behind the desk sighs in relief, clearly preferring to be anywhere but here, and leaves the room so quickly that he’s practically leaping out. When the woman – Clarke – finally returns her attention back to him, Bellamy, still holding the young doctor in his grasp, scowls at her. “I’m not doing anything until I make damn sure I will see my sister.”_

_She rolls her eyes and rubs her forehead with an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe Octavia wasn’t exaggerating when she said you were more of a drama queen than an Italian Soprano.”_

_Bellamy unwillingly lowers his arm from the guy’s throat. Now he’s confused. Who’s this woman? How close is she with his sister? Octavia rarely talks to strangers about her dysfunctional family, so how much has she told to this young doctor? Tens of questions are passing through his mind, but he decides to ask the simplest one. “You know Octavia?”_

_“Well, obviously. And I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows you indeed are Bellamy Blake, so right after you stop acting like an ass, I can take you to see your sister.”_

_Bellamy considers all the outcomes of possible scenarios in his head. Clarke seems bored with him than anything. He can get past the security, years of training come in handy after all, but it’s unlikely he will find Octavia soon by checking every room in the hospital. So he lets go of the man still struggling underneath his biceps, and takes few steps back. He turns to the blonde and gestures her to show him the way._

_“Lead the way, princess.”_

_She scoffs and rolls her eyes in response (she seems to do that a lot). “It’s Dr. Griffin to you.” Then she brushes past him in a swift motion (is it peach he smells?) and deliberately bumps his shoulder with hers, to which Bellamy smirks and shakes his head in disbelief, amazed at how intriguing the blonde is. When he turns back, he sees Collins gripping Clarke by the arm, his eyes wide open, shooting daggers at Bellamy. He should leave the whole intimidation act to the professionals, Bellamy thinks. He hears her mumbling “I’ll be okay… just nervous... doesn’t scare me” before she turns back to Bellamy and motions him to follow. “Octavia’s that way.”_

_They walk through the quiet corridors, surrounded by plain white walls and the medicinal smell Bellamy is appalled by. Every now and then, he steals prying glimpses at her through the corners of his eye; thin creases that are too old for her young age are apparent on her forehead, and the bridge of her nose cringes at the sight of each patient they pass by._

_Finally, Clarke lets him in a dimly lighted room with blue-painted walls. Octavia’s eyes are closed, but she’s not hooked up to any machine, so it mustn’t be serious. Bellamy immediately sits on the chair by her bedside, and holds her hand. He thinks of how peaceful she looks, and how he hasn’t seen her this serene since she started her internship at the hospital._

_“Don’t worry, she’s healthy. She was just sleep deprived from the busy hours. She doesn’t have concussion from the fall either. Though she’s sedated so she can rest for a while.”_

_Bellamy shifts his gaze back from his sister to Clarke, who is leaning rather awkwardly on the doorway, as if she thinks she’s intruding on an intimate moment. Now that he knows Octavia is safe, he moves on to the enigma that is the golden-haired woman before him. “How do you know I’m Bellamy Blake, anyway?”_

_“Octavia showed me a picture of you together at her graduation from Med-school.”_

_“Much more handsome in person, I know.”_

_“I believe aggravating is more of a correct term to describe you, Mr. Blake.”_

_Bellamy smugly sneers and extends his hand out. “Bellamy.” Clarke walks toward him, and shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Clarke.” They hold their gaze for a while, as if one is challenging the other to break the contact. He feels electrical pulses radiating off from their touching hands and a tingling sensation down his pants, and he clears his throat before turning to Octavia, her eyes still close. “So how do you know my sister?”_

_“We’re both interns at the hospital. We didn’t exactly like each other at the beginning though, the competition and ass-licking got the better of us. But now, I cannot think of a better friend to be there for me if I need someone. And being at the bottom of the food chain, we sure need all the help we can get.”_

_When Bellamy looks back at Clarke, he realizes she’s sitting on the couch by his chair now. He stands up and sits beside her, disregarding his stiffening when their knees brush in the process. Unaware of the time, they chat for moments that seem like hours to him. She talks of why she became a doctor (she loves having the answer when others seem unable to help a sick person, though she’s scared she was pushed into the field subconsciously by her mother who is also a surgeon) and her hobbies (she likes to draw portraits in her spare time, to capture the details telling complex stories that lay behind one’s eyes and wrinkles, she even mentions how each of his freckles expose a different fable, behaving like windows into his life). He tells her about his relationship with Octavia (after their mother died in a car crash, he raised her as well as he could, and although they fought through her rather intimate relationships with boys and his apparently overwhelming protective demeanor, he hopes in the end she knows he loves her) and his own job (he’s used to getting in fights from his teenage years, and he enjoys maybe too much kicking people’s ass, so he figures the whole cop thing is not so bad). Clarke laughs at him, asking if he shoves his shield into the face of every guy who creates the slightest inconvenience. Bellamy frowns at that, defending himself with his arms and claiming that spacewalker should learn not to behave so nosy if he likes his pretty face. She gasps and fakes a scowl, telling him that’s her boyfriend he’s insulting, and he, embarrassingly failing to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, changes the subject away from Mr. Dreamboat Aspiringtobeapediatricsurgeon._

_Evantually, against all Bellamy’s protests, Clarke stands up and heads for the door. He pulls an infamous smirk and says, “You know, you should have someone who takes care of you, princess.”_

_Clarke turns around, a cheesy grin on her sculpted face and a mischievous light in her blue eyes. “I do, though. Me.” Then she quickly leaves the room, unaware of Bellamy’s capturing gaze following her every movement until she’s lost behind the concrete walls._

* * *

 

 The room is dark. Bunch of half-finished paintings and empty canvases are scattered on the wooden tables with pencils, paints and brushes dispersed around them. Shadows lurk behind the closed drapes that guard the studio against the bright rays of sunlight, for Bellamy wants to soak in every minor detail of Clarke revealing before him on the screen.

She’s laughing at a joke Jasper just told him, one hand securely hung around Bellamy’s waist and the other patting Jasper on the back. She’s dressed in a white, strapless gown that clings to her curves and extends all the way down her ankles, making her look like an innocent dove. Her golden hair is draped over her shoulder in a princess-like braid, and two suspended curls frame her willowy face. Bellamy is also in formal attire; he is looking at Clarke like she hung the stars on the moon and occasionally whisperings sweet nothings in her ear, making her giggle like a teenager. _Stupid jerk._

Bellamy knows watching their wedding footage is a masochistic idea. After all, he loathes the guy on the video. He is appalled by his naivety, cradling her as if she will be by his side until “death do them part”, loving her as if he won’t have just eight more years together, kissing her flushed cheeks as if they will live happily ever after. Yet he can’t stop watching, because as much as he hates the douchebag who still has the person he loves deeply, Bellamy is in love with the beautiful bride and refuses to forget her blonde curls, her smile, her sky-blue eyes, and her dimples. It has been 35 days since the funeral, he is counting every fucking day, and he lives in fear of forgetting Clarke’s voice, the way it reached a frequency only Rebel could hear whenever she got angry with him. He already can’t remember her gentle touches and the way they gave him goose bumps, so he has sworn not to forget 1)the way she looked and 2)the way she sounded.

He hears the cracking door and a glimpse of light shines through the opening, but he doesn’t dare to look at the intruder; he is too wrapped up in the memory revealing on the display. But then he hears the familiar voice of his little sister, the one he hasn’t talked to for weeks. He probably doesn’t have to start speaking now anyway.

 

“This won’t help, you know.”

 

 

 

“Cramped up in this dark dusty room. You have to leave.”

 

 

 

“It’s been more than a month, Bell.”

 

 

 

“We lost her too. She wouldn’t want this.”

 

 

 

“They miss you. They can’t understand their mother’s absence and they want their father.”

 

 

 

“They need you.”

 

After the silence becomes unbearable, Octavia sighs and moves to leave her brother alone in his depressed state.

 

“Why her?”

 

She halts near the doorway, surprised Bellamy finally talking after weeks of silence. His voice is gravelly and shaky as he speaks, filled with hate and grief. She turns to her older brother, whose back is turned to her. “What do you mean?”

Bellamy stands up from the ground and meets Octavia’s gaze. He can see her wry expression, as if she’s calculating what his next move will be. He can tell she’s slightly afraid; she’s aware his anger is the root of all his reckless behaviors.

“You of all people know I had next to nothing in life. I didn’t wish for anything, for it would be taken away. And yet, I dared to love this stubborn woman who made me forget the loneliness. The only thing that mattered was her. And God knows how extraordinary we were together. So, I will gladly leave this room, right after you remind me why _SHE_ HAD TO DIE WHEREAS _I_ HAVE TO GET THROUGH THE PAIN AND THE ANGER, WHICH BY THE WAY HAVE BECOME THE ONLY EMOTIONS I’M CAPABLE OF FEELING NOWADAYS.”

He yells the last parts, not particularly at her, but at everything. Like a spark growing into a raging fire, his frustration has built up for weeks now, and this is the moment the flood escapes its imprisonment. His face is reddened and his head is pounding due to lack of sleep. He can hear his heartbeat thumping in his chest so loudly that for a brief moment he wonders if Octavia can hear the drums, furiously banging against his torso. His bloodshot eyes are again filled with tears (he’s surprised he hasn’t run out of them by now) and they slowly tumble down his cheekbones. 

He can see Octavia is also crying now. She’s cloaking her mouth behind her hand, tilting her head the way she always does when she is troubled at an event unfolding before her, and a soft whimper comes out. “Oh, Bell.” Before Bellamy can react, she envelops him in a tight, bone-crushing embrace. He stands dead on his tracks for few moments before his arms reluctantly close around her, and his silence turns into loud sobs as he buries his face in the crook of his sister’s shoulder. She smells of lavender, her usual perfume, and something distinctively _home,_ a concept he had lost along with Clarke. They stand in the middle of the workshop for several minutes, Bellamy wetting Octavia’s blouse, her stroking his curls and murmuring soft comforts like “I miss her too” “It will be okay” “She loved you” “You’ll get through this”. He’s too smart to believe in any of the promises, but somehow, he does feel better in her arms.

 

After what feels like an eternity, Bellamy pulls away, dries his tears with the sleeve of his shirt and mumbles a thank you. Octavia smiles lightly and punches his shoulder playfully, pulling a quiet chuckle out of his lips. His muscles ache out of disuse; has it really been that long since he last smiled? He shoves his hands into his pockets and brushes the floor with his foot before Octavia clears her throat, causing him to shift his gaze from the wooden surface to her watery chocolate brown eyes.

 

“So, uh, I have something for you big brother.” She’s shifting on her spot nervously and biting her lip, a nervous habit Bellamy easily recognizes.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s actually why I came here in the first place.”

 

“What is it?”

 

She doesn’t move or say anything, just keeps staring at him with attentiveness, so Bellamy opens his hand expectantly. She sighs and finally pulls out a wrinkled envelope from her purse. She looks at it – is it longing he sees in her eyes? – shortly before handing it to him. He can see his name on the cover as his hands grip the envelope. _Her handwriting._ His shoulders tense up, and he clenches his jaw so hard he’s afraid his teeth will get crushed beneath the force. Yet he can’t stop staring absentmindedly at the yellow casing that dares him to split it open and read what’s inside.His voice comes out more of a whisper as he says, more to himself than to Octavia, “She didn’t.”

Bellamy can feel her gaze on him, analyzing his every flinch and movement, but refuses to meet her eyes. He already knows what he will see; sorrow, grief, bitterness, emotions that reflect his own feelings.

“I’ll be outside if you need me.”

 

He feels a light touch in his forearm, an elegant kiss on his cheek. He hears the creaky noise of the door as it gently closes, and once again, he is alone. With her last words.

 _What the fuck am I supposed to do?_ is his first, reoccurring thought. _You’re going to read it you idiot_ is his second, although he must admit that the scolding sounds a lot like Clarke in his head. He turns the page in his hands for countless times before he sits on a stool, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He notices his calloused hands are shaking as he tears the envelope open and takes out a crumbled page, which oddly smells like peaches.

 

_My Dear Bellamy,_

_If you’re reading this, it means the brilliant scientists of the 21 st century have failed to find a miracle cure, and I’m, well, dead. My apologies. On the other hand, it also means there’s still hope, because Octavia would never have given my letter unless she was confident you will pull through. Nothing hurts me more than the idea of causing you further pain. So I won’t go down memory lane; I imagine you’re already depressing yourself enough by watching our home videos. I will, however, make you see sense. Hopefully._

_I’m a lucky woman, for I have lived with no regrets, because if I had made one decision differently, I wouldn’t have met you. My only regret is that I won’t be with you through all the milestones, the laughs and the tears. If I had one wish to spare, I would wish to overcome this tragic disease so I could see Amelia and Daniel start their first day at school, take them skiing in the winter, watch you try to handle Amelia’s teenage tantrums and intimidate her boyfriends with vicious threats, comfort Daniel after his first heartbreak, tear up at their high school graduation, help Amelia on her wedding day, grow old with you in that small hut near the shore you kept talking about building with your bare hands, and be proud of the small family we have raised together. My only hope is that though I am gone, I will be watching over all of you with a smile._

_Anyway, enough with the sentimentality. Here’s the thing, Bell. You, with all your anger, jealousy, resentment and over-protective nature, your humanity, your gentle touches, your loving words, and your compassion to those you love, you, Bellamy Blake, were the last, concluding chapter of my life. God knows how glad I am for saving the best for last._

_But you have to understand, honey, that I will at best be an exhilarating, with any luck unforgettable, rest spot in your long journey. Although my story is coming to an end, and from the deepest corners of my heart I’m sorry for not sticking longer to continue being a pain in your ass, your tale is far from finished. I know everything seems darker than the longest, blackest night itself. I know you feel lost and don’t know how to continue without me to help you. I know the pain devouring your heart makes it impossible to breathe._

_But you have to let go, baby. You and I both suffered losses, so we both know that it is indeed possible to live with the pain, but only if you let go of the memory of the blonde you met in the ER all those years ago. Because, as unfortunate as it is, I’m just that. A memory. You have to start writing the new chapters of your life, and I promise you, they will be breathtaking._

_Sometimes, life will knock you down, and that’s okay. Otherwise we wouldn’t appreciate all we have. But what’s going to make me haunt your miserable ass is if you let life keep you down. No matter how frightening a fresh beginning may seem, taking that first step towards your new life will be worth the trouble. You are brave and headstrong and can reach the end of the tunnel. Now, leave that dark, dusty, gloomy room where I’m sure you have trapped yourself into for several weeks, lock the door, and take the step._

_If you can promise my anything, promise me two things._

_Take care of our children. They are and will be our greatest accomplishments._ _They are yours now. You need to make them laugh, hold them when they cry, stand up for them, protect them, and teach them wrong from right. I know it’s hard, but asking for help from people who love you is never a weakness; strength comes from possessing the courage to admit that sometimes, it’s just not enough. So, whenever you’re exhausted like the nights we barely slept because whenever one would sleep, the other would start crying, do not hesitate to ask Octavia or Raven. They are two of the most gracious souls on the planet who will be more than glad to take some of the load of your back. Remember, sometimes you may feel lonely. But you’re never alone._

_Don’t lose faith in people. I’m sure you will be keen on playing the dead-wife card and preventing yourself from being happy for a long time. You’ll say you won’t disrespect my memory by going on pointless dates. Being your own obstacle is what you have done for a long time, so my last request is that stop getting in your own damn way. Remember me, and our wonderful, unique life in that small corner in Long Island we had created for ourselves. But please don’t be afraid to build more._

_You’ll find love, strong as it ever was when we slept under the starry night, deep as the ocean beds, warm as the morning sun. Do not be afraid to love again._

_Thank you for doing me the honors of being a wife and a mother. I am eternally grateful for the memories._

_You were my happy ending. I’m sorry I couldn’t be yours._

_May we meet again._

_Clarke_  

**Author's Note:**

> I hang out on [tumblr](http://bellandtheprincess.tumblr.com/) a lot


End file.
